The vulnerable one
by MidnightInDecember
Summary: Being in love is hard enough without having to worry about an escaped convict. Or the rest of the wonderful Uchiha family. ItaShi, AU, rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I'm back! This is my first fanfic in a long time, so if you by any chance happen to like this, please don't read my other stories *sweatdrop*. They're old and I don't particularly like them...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own nada. **

**I'm sorry for my english, and I'm warning you: this is yaoi! **

**Anyway, Enjoy and R&R folks! :)**

**First chapter: Shisui and Itachi**

You never really know when it starts.

When did this feeling change? Once, you were so comfortable around him, you were relaxed, almost careless, as one is in company with really old friends. You never tip-toed around him – because seriously, he aint the type, and you aren't, either, and you didn't even understand that up til now. You were totally oblivious, of him, of you, of you in his presence.

But that's it, right? The moment you start pondering those things, at the same time you have to start considering how to act normal when with him... that's got to be it. Because before, it was all so natural you never even thought. And that's, like, at all.

And all of this is wrong, since it's you, and damn, it's _him_. You don't get to feel stuff like that, not for your best of best friends, not for your fucking cousin (deary me, _that's_ kinda weird), and not for someone who, if he knew, would laugh in your face with the whole awkwardness of one who never laughs, but just this once really can't help himself, because yes, it's that stupid.

Philosophizing over feelings was never really your strong suit, anyway, and you much prefer avoiding those things, because you do admit to having this childlike quality and that is, _hey, if I'm no good at it, it's a talent not worth having and screw you, I don't have to do it. _

But now you're doing it with the whole of your infatuated being and it's stupid and it _sucks_.

* * *

Uchiha Shisui was tired. Well, tired as in half-dead, barely conscious, 'keep away that shit's catching' – tired.

As in, _insomnia, here I come_.

Despite all that (and the unavoidable self-pity that came with it) he managed to crawl out of bed, a feat for which he should've been thoroughly rewarded and praised. That is, if there had existed justice in the world.

As it was, he dragged himself to the bathroom all alone and misunderstood and grinned at his image in the bathroom mirror, since he looked so worn down it was funny. Really, that face was enough to send kids screaming. And women fainting. And men... well, whatever men did when they saw something scary. They probably beat it with a stick.

He should know, he _was_ a man.

A man with feelings for another...male. 'It's not my fault, he doesn't even look like a guy...'

Splashing water in his face (as if that had ever helped anybody), he banned those thoughts and instead turned his mind to more pressing issues. Like, the issues of the jobs. Yes siree, that was job_s_, plural, period. No big deal.

But it was a big deal, because they were the reason for him looking like something out of a low-budget horror movie. He really should quit one of them, either of them, but he couldn't, because humanity had put money on the same level of importance as oxygen so that today, that was something you needed to live.

He could always ask for it, but that was a matter of pride and _you don't touch the pride_. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help how he'd been raised, and the thing was that he'd rather die of sleep deprivation and pure exhaustion than bow to that man, yes, anything but that. The fact that 'that man' happened to be the father of his secret love interest was just another factor adding to the complications.

Bottomline, Fugaku was a figurative ass and had a metaphorical stick up his real one.

There was also the wife of that man – she was lovely, Mikoto, but traditional as hell, and that meant she did everything her husband told her to, even if it meant not helping almost-family members in need – but as mentioned, she wouldn't do shit, and then it was the brat, the little brother of his dear, er, best friend something, whatever, and that kid was probably the reason he had this thing against the color blue.

That kid was as spoiled as one can get without it resulting in brain damage. Or perhaps it had. After all, he was the only one not caring to run at the mention of their creepy, crazy-ass uncle, luckily enough locked away at the moment.

Also, the boy was a rude attention whore, something Shisui disliked because, you know, plagiarism was totally tacky and besides you only needed one per family.

So, that was as many relatives as he had left in life, and with his cousin included, that was also the large amount of friends he'd managed to collect during his lifetime; all one of them.

So yeah, he wasn't completely helpless, but the chance of him asking for help was, to put it mildly, _slim_.

Because a man's got to fight his own battles and really, if he didn't stop those ridiculous thoughts of masculinity soon, he'd have to bang his head repeatedly against the wall.

He didn't believe that shit anyway, _male, female, you're still a human being and that makes you every bit as stupid as the rest of 'em_. 'And cynicism is uncool, do stop that too'.

Tiredly, he gave his reflection another smile, this a more serious one. It made his cheeks hurt. He really did smile too much, at the manager and at his colleagues when at the storage carrying those unbelievably heavy boxes – what the hell was in those, anyway? Oh right, it was a bookstore... -, at the drunk idiots when behind the bar late at night, trying to will the buzzing headache away. Really, if you didn't smile they might think you weren't happy, and if you weren't happy, you had no place in the line of gullible fools, the lowest of the low in the society food chain.

Except for the social cases and the homeless, of course.

Aaand his boss at the day job had told him that, 'hey, you look tired, sure you can handle this?' and he just had to prove him wrong because he needed that money and then it was, you name it, the pride. Pride stung. And it was a deadly sin, the worst of the lot.

He thought he knew why.

Too tired to do something about his ghastly appearance, he left the bathroom to go find himself something edible. Preferably something with a poetically bitter aftertaste.

* * *

It was his day off today, his only day off, one might add. Sunday. How lovely.

To celebrate that he had made it through another week of labor and living off of last month's shitty payment, and this without having died once, he decided to go visit his only friend, famous for being antisocial on the verge of psychopathology and for having the prettiest face in town.

Or maybe he was biased. Especially on that last thing.

Either way, he took the bus – which was crammed and had the sort of driver that would as happily run over the passengers as pick them up – seeing how, even though it wasn't that far, his legs felt as they might give way under him any second. And yes, seeing Itachi really was more important than resting. Because you know, true love makes you mad and dumb and all that.

The neighborhood the happy family lived in was a bit better than his own, even if it wasn't the type where you'd let your kids play out of sight. Their house was a light blue one, with a neatly kept, minimal garden that was in bloom this time of the year. The flowers were as pretty as they get, somehow managing to look wildly beautiful in spite of their organized lines. Some were crimson as blood, some celestially blue and others as brightly yellow as the sun, as white as innocence.

And when standing on the doorstep of this house, absentmindedly looking out at them, Shisui thought to himself that it was a truly wonderful morning.

That is, until Uchiha Sasuke opened the door.

The brat looked as annoyingly smug as ever, with his lips curling in an immediate, tiny smirk at the sight of the visitor. And yeah, he wore blue.

"The hell're you doing up, anyway?" Shisui asked, because that didn't only seem a polite greeting but an appropriate one, too.

Itachi had complained about his brother not getting up in time for school – and this was a Sunday, of all days. Shisui had expected him to be mercifully unconscious and happily unknowing.

"The hell are you doing _here_, anyway?" Sasuke snared and made one of his faces, the one that meant that he was trying his hardest to think of something clever to say. "You look like shit and you smell almost as bad. I'm not sure I want you in our house."

"Move aside, bitch," Shisui snarled, too tired to engage in one of their precious little word-battles.

Sasuke shrugged indifferently, but at least had the decency to get out of the way.

"You're gonna want to avoid my father," he said and now the smirk was in place again, audible in his voice. "This wasn't his best morning."

"What, he woke up and saw you?" Shisui couldn't really help it, that response came automatically.

It wasn't his fault the brat made it so damn _easy_.

"Go to hell, dear cousin," Sasuke answered serenly and stalked past him to go up the stairs.

He'd only made it halfway, however, before a voice called from the connected kitchen:

"Sasuke! Did I say that we were finished talking?"

Ah, Fugaku. The man of the house, dreaded fascist and puppy-killer. The world would end before he smiled, or implode when he did.

No wonder Sasuke's personality was all fucked up. It was Itachi that was the real mystery there.

"You've already preached to me about the sin of defying your parents," snorted the aforementioned youngest brother. "And you did hold your usual speech about the manners in which I've managed to disappoint you lately. Anything you wanna add?"

"You won't get anywhere with that kind of attitude, Sasuke," Fugaku replied seriously, but by then, the object of his correction had already made it safely to the second floor.

Shisui thought that he might be able to sneak past, even if it was against all odds and the irony of life, but wasn't surprised when he couldn't.

The thing was, the moment he carefully glanced through the doorway to the kitchen, Fugaku actually turned around, as if he couldn't just be sitting there eagerly staring out at him: no, the chance of Shisui getting away unnoticed _had_ existed, only just a moment ago.

"Hi, uncle Fugaku," Shisui mumbled and waved lamely.

Because he was so scared of the man the only rude remarks he ever made in his presence were unspoken ones.

"Shisui," Fugaku said. "You look a bit tired. How is your work going?"

Always the same grave tone and the same unblinking eyes; the grim expression that of a man who was so stoically boring that people spending too much time in his presence started doubting that joy had ever existed.

He put the newspaper in his hands down on the table, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on the uninvited guest awkwardly lingering in the kitchen doorway.

"Uh, good, I guess," Shisui answered as nonchalantly as possible, smiling a tad bit nervously. "I just, you know... it's kinda tough but... yeah, no, it's all good."

When speaking to someone as socially retarded as this guy, he couldn't help but feeling ashamed, no matter how little he'd been involved in the making of Uchiha Fugaku's social skills.

He also couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, like a beginner, a newcomer. Like an unknowing child. That there was pure manliness, right?

"That's good," Fugaku said, seemingly undisturbed by his own weirdness.

Then, just to prove Shisui's point, he turned his attention to the paper before him without another word.

Really, that man was too much. And the most awkward thing about him was his total and utter ignorance of his own awkwardness.

"Uh, bye, uncle," Shisui said and fled up the stairs like the coward he was.

The door to Sasuke's room was closed, thank god.

There were only two more doors on the second floor, and only one of them stood open; the one that led into the little bathroom the brothers were sharing. So Itachi's door was closed, too. This was unusual, seeing how he used to be up by now, and always left the door open after having left his bed.

His bed... Well, that was one thought he needn't delve deeper into. For the moment.

The possibility that Itachi hadn't gotten up yet was actually quite scary, even more so seeing how both Sasuke and himself were awake enough to utter whole sentences. The next thing he knew, Fugaku would stand at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at him.

Creeped out by the thought, Shisui hurriedly abandoned the idea of doing the appropriate thing that was knocking, and instead let himself into his cousin's room without further ado.

The room was more of a cupboard, really, small enough to suggest that it was never meant for housing anything other than your usual leftover belongings, and with a roof so low it could make even the average person claustrophobic. Itachi had, after Sasuke hit puberty and became the monstrosity of hormonal bitchiness he now was, decided to once again be the self-sacrificing hero and moved in here to avoid unleashing the hell that was his baby brother's teenage angst.

He really was quite the bitch for Sasuke, mind you. Not that it made him any less awesome, really; it was sort of adorable, despite him choosing the object of his affection unwisely.

So, there must be some evil powers at work here, because when Shisui had shut the door behind him and his eyes had adjusted, he could tell that Itachi was still asleep, even if he could only make out a familiar silhouette under the covers.

Seriously, was he ill? You would think Sasuke could've mentioned that.

Shisui took the one step that separated him from the bed and stopped to look down at the sleeping figure (not that he could tell much more than yeah, Itachi was breathing and indeed, he was deeply asleep). Carefully, he seated himself on the edge of the bed and let his touch guide him until he found a shoulder – apparently, Itachi was lying on his side, facing him – from which he could slide his fingers down to that slender, swanlike neck and brush aside the hair that was as black as the darkness.

He had exactly three reasons to do this, and though he remembered none, he just to happened to know that those were all very good and took justifying inexplicable behavior to a whole new level.

And anyway, this was all excusable, somehow. For one, it wasn't that stalkerlike, because well, he couldn't actually _watch_ Itachi sleep.

Also, they were close. This wasn't the most intimate they'd ever gotten – okay, he was a kid at the time, but he had spent several nights sleeping beside his cousin, after his father had left when opportunity presented itself and the reminder of his family reluctantly took him in. And he did recall being fifteen and teaching Itachi how to kiss; that was practical experience, _with_ tongue, although he didn't have the brains to enjoy it at the time.

Shisui was intensely aware of his own hotly flushed face, of Itachi's calm and deep breathing, when his hand ghosted over his cousin's smooth, warm cheek.

Suddenly, the body beneath him stirred. And without being given the chance to jerk away, he found his innocently caressing hand caught in an unforgiving death grip.

Huh. And here he thought it was only people in movies that awoke like that.

Itachi was sitting up before he knew it; and he had the older boy thrown backwards and pinned down before Shisui could even think about stuttering a weak, stupid 'Hi' in response. Then, the room's occupant switched on his bedlamp and made his victim go momentarily blind as an answer to the assault on his retinas.

"Shisui," Itachi said and Shisui was so embarrassed that he wanted to cry, run away or perhaps die.

He did neither, since crying would only have made things worse, running was impossible with his friend practically on top of him, and dying, well, he supposed he could bite his tongue but that _did_ seem like overdoing it.

Instead he just lay there, blinking helplessly and looking up at Itachi, who was shamelessly beautiful despite the recent awakening having left him with drowsy, red-rimmed eyes, a hairstyle that resembled Sasuke's and a paleness bordering on the unhealthy.

But weren't there beauty in everything, when you loved?

Yeah, it was true. He was a real romantic, sappy as fuck. In secret, 'course.

He definitely didn't have time for that right now: at the moment he needed a believable lie, alternatively enough peace of mind to come to terms with his impending death.

Itachi, however, was as undependable as his father; had he been normal, he would've punched Shisui in the face and screamed: "What the hell, you looking to molest me, you creepy fuck?", but as it was, he merely knitted his brows and let go of his cousin, straightening up.

"What time is it? Have I overslept?" he asked, sounding unbelieving in a manner that suggested that no, Uchiha Itachi wasn't human enough to do this.

And truly, he wasn't.

"It's, uh," Shisui said and tried to pretend he knew, "eleven... or something," which probably would have worked better had he left out that last part.

Slowly, he sat up, discreetly fingering the wrist Itachi had caught hold of first and wondering from where his skinny friend had ever gotten that kind of strength.

_Let's just ignore it, pretend it never happened. I like that._

"I was up late, helping Sasuke with a school project," Itachi said, as if he felt the need to explain himself.

"Really, you don't have to go so defensive," Shisui teased. "Don't worry, nobody is questioning the pure perfection of the famed Uchiha Itachi..."

The only reward he got was an impassive look that seemed to say 'shut up', while simultaneously suggesting it was impossible for said famous person to care less.

About anything. And especially a certain someone, making lame comments in a vain effort to hide his own embarrassment.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" Itachi asked and combed fingers through his unruly hair, obviously deciding Shisui's comment wasn't worthy of further notice. "Otherwise, we would be more than happy to feed you." He frowned. "You do look a bit thin. Have you lost weight?"

"No," Shisui said dishonestly, because he seriously hadn't a clue. "Nah, you know, no worries... you don't have to go all Mikoto on me. But, I mean, breakfast would be fine."

Because this morning, his refrigerator had been as empty as his wallet, and as his head right about now.

A little late, he added: "Thanks."

Itachi got up – wearing nothing but black boxers and _damn_, wearing them well, even though he was the one you had to worry about when it came to 'hey, aren't they feeding you?' - and began to get dressed with a casualness that had Shisui even more uncomfortable.

_I mean, the decent thing would be for him to turn away or something. Or for me to, like, stop staring._

"So, what were you doing?"

The question was all normality and innocence, but it still had the oldest of them freezing up.

"Huh?" Shisui looked up from his fascinating study of the stained carpet covering the floor.

"When I woke up."

Itachi had an odd tone to his voice, something that sounded like...amusement.

Which was totally ridiculous, because Uchiha Itachi certainly didn't get amused.

"Oh, that." What timing. When he'd almost managed to convince himself it hadn't happened. "Yeah, that." He decided to go for unconcerned and cool and laugh it off. "If I told you I was searching for your pulse, would you believe me? When you weren't up at six o' clock to sing with your little friends the birds, I got worried."

Itachi buttoned his smart, white shirt and gave his cousin the closest to a smile he ever wore, a slight, almost undetectable twist at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay," was the only thing he said. "So, breakfast."

And happy to get off so easily, Shisui followed suit.

* * *

Sasuke was bored.

All other people his age had things that could help this: a computer, an own TV, a fucking PS3. He had nothing, not a noteworthy thing with which to fill his empty days. He lacked a life as much as the rest of them, but unlike them, he was unable to even cover it up, pretend that he was all happy and lived meaningfully by playing games or watching porn or sending messages to friends that was, like everything else, a welcomed distraction and nothing more.

Fuck, his family was so poor it should be illegal. They had one TV and no fun channels at all, and his parents called him spoiled if he wasn't satisfied with, at sixteen years of age, playing with sticks and fucking stones.

All the others had more and it wasn't fair. His class was filled with brats flaunting their designer clothes and their new cellphones, all bragging about their undeserved wealth as if they should be admired for their choosing of the right family to be born into.

Unsurprisingly enough, Sasuke didn't like people. He had always been uncaring about the whole friend-hysteria thing, and like hell he would start now - wasting his time in that way simply wasn't an option. Sure enough, he could've; simply because he wasn't so desperate the desperate ones was drawn to him, fascinated with someone owning the least bit of pride and integrity. They were all pathetic and annoying, like dogs begging to be kicked by staying at your feet.

Mindless imbeciles.

It wasn't like he minded being alone.

Still, the problem remained. He had nothing to do. And life was about entertaining yourself, about keeping yourself occupied while the years took you closer to death.

Uncle Madara knew that. He was the only one who understood. If Sasuke told his parents about his boredom, Mikoto gave him a chore to do and Fugaku gave him a lecture on the value of hard, honest work and then a chore. If he told Itachi, Itachi would look at him in that affectionate, belittling fashion that suggested he was thinking something along the lines of: "You will learn when you get older.", or, as he had once said: "There are people worse off than you that are happier than you. Don't be so selfish.".

Then, he would give him a chore to do.

Really, as if it wasn't their fault if he was selfish and spoiled and bored.

Madara, on the other hand, had said: "Amuse yourself. That's what life is about."

And that was Sasuke's motif for visiting him every two weeks - for some obscure reason that he didn't care to recall this took place on Tuesdays - in the high-security prison that laid a few miles away from the city. It was in secrecy, of course. The rest of his family had gladly severed all ties with mad Madara, left him to rot in his cell because he didn't fit into their perfect little lives, where they were oh so responsible and oh so righteous and everything was kept insufferably neat and tidy. It was sickening, really.

Okay, so that was excluding Shisui, who was just as childish as himself but every bit as boring as the rest of them.

Anyway, this odd partnership was the reason for Sasuke knowing something of which the others had no clue. When he thought of that, he supposed he could endure the boredom a few days longer. Because soon, things were going to get interesting.

* * *

The next Tuesday, when Sasuke was out with some friends and Mikoto and Fugaku was gone on their usual trip to pay respect to the dead who were all buried in another land, by throwing flower petals into the ocean that separated them, Itachi and Shisui went to the movies.

Itachi hadn't been too happy about missing out on the week's most depressing hour, but had finally decided to go when his cousin had pleaded. Because this was the only day Shisui had had even the remotest possibility of getting off earlier (which he did), and the only day the right movie was shown and besides, it was the day of the special prizes, the offers that involved the only movie tickets he felt he could afford.

Mikoto had taken Shisui's side, too.

"You really do need to get out more, sweetie," she had said and given her eldest son a motherly hug. "It isn't that nice of a tradition; your social life shouldn't suffer because of the dead. And Sasuke hasn't been present for years."

Fugaku had only grunted and looked at his wife as if he considered her crazy, what with her thinking that a son of his could _ever_ have a social life.

It had you wondering what the hell Sasuke was actually up to.

Having his way made Shisui feel quite guilty, because it reminded him that he himself hadn't joined them in their little ritual since the first time they did it. Then again, he had started to cry so hard and hysterically it was all a fuzzy and most unpleasant memory; of Fugaku's glares, Mikoto's comforting hugs and Itachi's blank expression when faced with something he didn't understand (and was secretly terrified of). And also, he had the vaguest recollection of four year old Sasuke crying, too.

It wasn't that he was very young when this happened; he had been eleven, but the emotional strain had left him so drained he couldn't seem to remember it very well.

His childhood had mostly been like that, really, with only a few happenings left painfully clear, so vivid that he could relive them much too easily, with everything so detailed and near it felt like reality.

But that had been the war. The war, that tore apart their country and had neighbors becoming enemies. The war that none of them profited from, none but the rich and powerful that sat towering over the land as if it was a chessboard and threw away the lives of civilians and soldiers alike, like they were nothing but sacrificial pawns.

Itachi had changed from the war, very much so. And not only by turning so unemotional you'd suspect he had actually died. Before it, he would defend himself like anyone being attacked; afterwards, he'd rather lay on the ground taking the kicks than deal them out.

If it wasn't for someone he cared about, of course. He had come to hate violence violently, but no matter how much it hurt him, he would use it if he saw no other way out, especially if it was to protect someone. Particularly Sasuke.

It was because of uncle Madara they had chosen to move to precisely this city, blissfully ignorant of the fact that he was a criminally insane mob boss feared in the whole vicinity. Thankfully, he'd soon been arrested due to a brave witness, an ex-member of his gang, and was now to stay locked up until his 110th something birthday.

They had found a sanctuary in this new country, where there was peace and no one knew, where the only comment people made when hearing about it was: "That is awful", without actually getting it, without having _seen_. The exclusive brands and the unachievable ideals were the rulers of their worlds; they had their safe streets, their fabricated news and their lying TV-screens; they watched, sure they did, but oh, they were blind. It wasn't like they could help their ignorance, and Shisui had never wished his own life upon anybody else. But they had no idea how happy they were; they should at least have the courtesy of _pretending_ to be thankful.

When his mother had survived getting raped and tortured half to death, only to be killed by a stray bullet - it wasn't even meant for her, it was an accident, the reason why you shouldn't play with guns - , he had seen his father crumble, fall apart like his body was of glass and he had met a stonewall.

Shisui had been left in the care of Mikoto and Fugaku, when they had gotten here and his father had finally found an escape route, a place where safety in numbers wasn't as true, where you could run without the same risk of getting hunted down. Abandoned again, but he had overcame it. You did.

Therefore, he was of the controversial opinion that teenagers in welfare countries could survive some pubertal confusion.

Anyway, back to the topic of Itachi's changes. From the moment Sasuke had set his foot in school, he had been terribly bullied. Screw his indifferent attitude, his arrogant image. When he was little, he was as insecure as the rest of them, or possibly more. Either way, he'd been chosen as the suiting victim of the others' whims, and it had gone on for years, and really gotten pretty bad.

That is, until Itachi had been informed. Sasuke had been a star at hiding it, but once his brother knew, things changed. Oh yes, Itachi had _reacted_. He hadn't even tried any of the usually failing measures, like talking to the teachers or the parents.

He had tied one of the leaders to a tree and used him for his target practice when he suddenly decided he needed to add the talent of thrusting kitchen knives to his abilities, and yes, one had hit. So far as Shisui knew, that boy was still nine-fingered. Amazingly enough, the only thing he had ever said about the incident was: "I will never cut fruit again."

One of the others had been in a real freak accident: when going down a hill the front wheel of his bike had come loose, resulting in a minor concussion and a broken arm. This was even stranger seeing how the bike was bought the day before and had been used a total of two times.

And Itachi had never admitted it, but Shisui was quite sure he had been involved in that inexplicable fire, too. It had consumed the house of the worst of the culprits, hurting no one since the family had went on a timely vacation, but giving birth to an incredible amount of wild speculation. Understandable; after all, it was the most luxurious house in one of the richest parts of the city, and both the fire-safety and the security of it was meant to be impenetrable. Weirdly enough, no alarm had been set off and the sprinklers had – and this was every last one of them – been mystically out of service. Of course, rumor therefore had it that it was the family themselves, and it went so far that the insurance company refused to pay them the whole amount of money, though the crime was never accurately proven.

So, Itachi wasn't all kind pacifism. He could surprise you. But still, if he didn't deem it necessary, he wouldn't hurt anyone. Shisui had always thought Sasuke was Itachi's one link to pity humanity, the only aspect of his life over which he could lose control, be self-centered, let his emotions rule. This made Shisui a little jealous, since it was including himself.

They were the children of war, holding on to each other while the earth shook. Sasuke, on the other hand, hadn't been old enough to be too deeply affected by this: that was probably one reason for Itachi reacting so strongly to ignorantly cruel children trying their best to break it, the innocence of his untouched little brother.

The thing was, Shisui thought this innocence was long since dead, that Itachi had been many years too late. It was a part of growing up, even if Sasuke's awakening had been harder than most. He would never say this, however; that would be too evil, to break the illusions of a man that thought he had none left.

Did Itachi think the two of them to be destroyed? Shisui didn't, really. He had remained sane, had hold onto his humanity – and even if he might have lost it sometimes, it could be regained, right? You could take it back, wounds would always heal, no matter how ugly scars they left. The damage was only ever irreparable if you deemed it so.

If the power of your mind could kill you, you could most likely be reborn through it, too.

Itachi wasn't the type to whine, to cry over his horrible past and feel sorry for himself, so maybe that wasn't the case for him, either. If he thought himself to be broken, it would've shown.

Broken people saved nothing.

"Did you like the movie?"

The object of his thoughts interrupted them by asking this simple question.

"Huh?" Shisui blinked and realized the credits were now rolling over the screen, and found he'd been completely oblivious of the last twenty-something minutes of the film. "Oh, yeah, whatever... How did it end?"

Itachi let out a soft, amused laugh that was illegally cute and terribly underused.

"The pair sailed of into the sunset," he summarized helpfully.

"Mhm," Shisui murmured. "Sounds good."

Now, that would be a most suiting end to his own love story. Wait, what? You couldn't even call it that yet, seeing how one of the main characters was completely unaware of the role he had to play in it.

Shisui must admit to not having paid much attention, and him contemplating over his best friend's state of mind wasn't the whole story. They _were_ seated way too close for him to be able to focus fully on something beyond Itachi's elbow.

"Why would you want to see this movie?" Itachi asked, as always skipping the easy part and going right for the tricky questions. "Perhaps it's just me, but it doesn't seem like your normal choice of film."

Ah, but he could lie his way right out of this one.

"Because the only other option was a war movie," he replied smoothly, "and you hate them."

"I don't hate anything," Itachi protested with a small snort. "Besides, wasn't your justification of me missing out on the honoring that you desperately wanted to see exactly this movie?"

Was it? Damn, it _was!_ What was he supposed to say to that?

"Yeah, well," he began hesitantly, "I just thought it sounded good, you know. All girly and stuff. Romance is, like, my second favorite genre."

Itachi regarded him silently, then spoke very mildly:

"But wasn't it you who said 'I'd rather die than watch another one of those worthless pieces of shitty, sappy, silly crap about romances that are so unlikely they are a fucking teenage girl's wettest dream'?"

He had no doubt that that was word for word.

Better play stupid.

"I did?" He looked at Itachi in what he hoped was an unknowingly innocent manner. "Well, apparently I've changed my mind, then."

They had gotten to their feet now and were heading for the exit. Shisui threw his popcorn box on the floor (because yeah, there were no trash cans in sight. And also, he was lazy like that.), which immediately had Itachi bending down to pick it up.

"You know, your conscience must be such a bitch," Shisui laughed.

Itachi didn't favor him with an answer, but simply dumped the box in the nearest trash can, which stood just outside the door.

When they had gotten out of the cinema, Itachi suddenly turned towards him and looked him straight in the eye, halting both of their steps by grabbing his cousin by the shoulders.

This, quite naturally, had Shisui a tad bit alarmed. As always, it made him want to raise his protective barrier of stupid jokes and fake laughter.

"Wow, what's up with this?" he chirped, plastering on the most insincere smile of his lifetime. "If I didn't know better, I would think you got all inspired by that movie."

Itachi, however, did not seem impressed.

"Shisui," he said tonelessly, "do you have any romantic intentions with me?"

Before his brain could process the information just given (like, one: Itachi was a hell of a lot more attentive than you'd give him credit for, and two: that choice of words was truly hilarious) and come up with something sensible, like: "We're related, that'd be creepy," or something, uh, witty like "Oh you wish!", he opened his mouth and blurted out:

"Yes." Then, to repair the damage: "NO! Of course not! Why would I... what kind of question _is_ that, anyway?"

He heard himself practically screaming this in his friend's face, with a voice that had an edge of hysteria to it.

Itachi kept very still, all coolness and composure, and appeared to be undisturbed by the fact that they were now the center of the few remaining moviegoers' attention.

"So you are in love with me," he said silently, which had Shisui going all scared and embarrassed and ashamed of his own inability to lie.

And hopeful, because at least he didn't seem disgusted, and that was a good thing, right? Right?

"No," Shisui said and by now, he would have came close to crying if he wasn't too old for it, if he hadn't gotten too damn good at holding it back.

His face was so hot it felt like the skin would melt right off of it, and his heart was beating so hard it hurt.

This was not how things were supposed to go. This wasn't how it worked. Itachi shouldn't know, damn it, and even if he did, he should still act all oblivious, leaving them both to suffer in silence.

Fucking social retardness running in the family.

"You lie," Itachi concluded.

"A lot," Shisui agreed. "And that one was true."

He didn't know how he could actually formulate a logical sentence when his heart was merrily pounding its way out of his chest and happily breaking his temples.

"I have to go," he said and fled before either of them got around to stopping him.

Itachi didn't call out to him, anyway, which made him infinitely relieved and so unhappy he had to remind himself he didn't cry, never did those days, _never_, and still had to blink the unfamiliar sensation of tears away, while he ran like he was being chased, ran like his coward father.

Despite all of this already having too much the feel of a bad soap opera about it, he couldn't help making one last, dramatic exclamation, howling it at the sky and drawing the bewildered looks of a few passers-by: "Screw this, I will never go to the movies again!"

* * *

Sasuke had come to a decision.

He was aware of the effect this would have on his closest family members; aware, but uncaring. They had driven him to this. In fact, you could say they gave him no other choice.

And really, as much as that sounded as cheap excuses, he was on his way already. It had been set in motion; he couldn't stop. And yes, he did fear what would happen to him if he tried to.

With that in mind, he began packing his few belongings. Time to go.

* * *

**Hope you liked! Next chap will be out quite soon ^^. **


	2. Chapter 2

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**Ok so um, second chap up :)! This is gonna be slightly more, well "dramatic" than the last one... the plot thickens! or something **

**Also, Id like to thank pen-Aine and SkywardShadow (again) for reviewing :D! youre my inspiration people! (and also, S A F A R I G U R L for helping me fixing this up before anyone else could see it XD) **

**Disclaimer: do not own. **

**Im sorry for my english... as always XD

* * *

**

**Second chapter: The odd incidents**

_The sunlit kitchen hadn't changed. _

_The hands rapidly and impatiently drumming away on the tabletop were the same. _

_Nothing had suddenly fallen out of place, it all looked like it always had – he should know, he lived here. The colors hadn't darkened, the shadows hadn't deepened. _

_But something in the atmosphere had shifted. _

_It was all different now. _

_And yet, to the man on the opposite side of the table Itachi spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world:_

"_What must I do?" _

* * *

This Sunday, after that dreadful Tuesday of fail, Shisui did something he hadn't done since he started his job (one in the beginning, _oh, those were the times_) and quickly as hell moved away from the house of his substitute family, that which was never really his home:

He didn't go to see Itachi.

This would've alarmed anyone that knew him - had there existed more than one of those -, seeing how his cousin was the closest to a normal social life he would ever get, and, this was crucial, the most important person in his life. And even those that didn't know him very well could tell that this was the highlight of his week; that if anything, this meeting was what he looked forward to, the major of the things keeping him going throughout his workweek.

His boss had seen him off the day before with a: "You look gloomy. You missing that friend of yours?", which had left Shisui speechless, because really, had he ever even spoken of Itachi? And even so, why the hell did that guy _care_? Scary.

Anyway, he stayed at home this Sunday, deciding to get some sleep instead, of which he was in dire need. Of course, this was made impossible by his idiotic mind, that insisted on spinning until he wanted to throw up and never, ever see an Itachi again.

No, really, that was kind of the problem.

While lying in his bed and staring up at the roof or straight ahead at the wall (and seeing neither), Shisui came to the conclusion that this wouldn't work. Why it had taken him over three hours of tossing and turning to figure this out, however, remained a mystery.

Yawning, he got up and then immediately sat down again, perplexed. Because seriously, what was he supposed to do now? This was a real tricky question, due to his life basically consisting of two things: work, and, you'd never had guessed it, Itachi. Sadly enough, that was it. It was really all he had. He supposed he could do something about it – there were those people at work who'd asked him to go out with them, and then there was that girl who usually hung around the bar, she had a thing for him, and then...- but it was too much of an effort.

And it wasn't what he needed. He suspected that he would feel alone no matter how many casual acquaintances he surrounded himself with. Even if you, and that was on good grounds, could protest against his own claim that he wasn't a hopeless, useless idiot (which his only ever girlfriend had suggested), he had much enough commonsense to know that this kind of compensating never worked.

Whatever. What he needed to do was to get out. Perhaps he could exhaust himself by doing something unusually tiring, like running - or any other variety of training, for that matter. Maybe he would fall asleep if he had himself physically drained as well.

Or maybe he could take a sleeping pill and just this once allow himself the choosing of the easiest way out.

* * *

Itachi didn't come to him that Sunday.

This was something he could conclude after waking up from his drug induced sleep the evening of said day, fearing that since he had spent most of the day asleep, he would be unable to go back to sleep later at night, without the use of prescribed medication.

Why was he surprised? Or what was he, disappointed? Anyway, he shouldn't have expected too much. He wasn't even sure his friend knew where he lived.

He'd been here sometime, right? _Or maybe that was just in those weird fantasies I had_.

True, he had had a considerable amount of erotic dreams about Itachi, and that was even before he stopped living in denial. Seriously, what the hell. He needed to get laid, badly.

Shisui smiled at this, despite it not being even remotely funny, and then decided that maybe that exercise idea hadn't been a bad one after all.

Everything was better than the nothingness, right? You had way too much of that in a society like this. _And maybe then that irrelevant fact that Itachi haven't even bothered to call won't matter anymore. I'd like that_.

* * *

The following week was, well, like any other. Shisui barely had the time to miss his friend, what with his jobs keeping him busy, and when they didn't, they still left him too tired to think about anything but his own worn-out body, and, occasionally, his own worn-out body in relation to his bed.

They didn't use to see each other during the week anyway, so it wasn't that it actually was a change. Really, that weird outing the last Tuesday had been the exception, not the rule.

Only one thing happened that diverted from normality. But truly, it was weird enough to make up for every other oddness that didn't occur.

It was Thursday, five o'clock in the afternoon, and Shisui was on his way home from his day job, having had a real ugly argument with one of his colleagues. It hadn't regarded anything the least bit important - it was more a product of his own tired irritation and that asshole's infamous bitchiness - but it had left him angry beyond reason and frustrated as fuck.

This having been precisely before he got off, he was still in a pissy mood when he walked the streets to get to his apartment (only good thing about this job: it was close) and hopefully get a couple of hours' sleep before he started on the night shift.

Then, he just happened to look up. And right in front of him there happened to be a most familiar person, successfully exuding stuck-up arrogance even with his back turned.

"Sasuke!" Shisui said, and at the same moment he uttered the name it occurred to him that perhaps he didn't even _want_ to be noticed by the brat.

Still, when the one he spoke to didn't bother to acknowledge him, he got annoyed. How weird the workings of the human mind were.

"Sasuke! Hey, wait up, bitch!"

This he shouted a little louder, and it finally caused the one addressed to turn around.

And yes, it was Sasuke. What was he doing here, anyway? This was where the bad kids hung, and despite him being set on constantly looking cool, he wasn't tough enough for them. He wasn't terribly far away from home, but Shisui doubted Mikoto would ever let her son run around unguarded in neighborhoods such as these.

Also, Sasuke may be stubborn and childish, but he wasn't reckless and, though it hurt to admit, neither was he stupid.

However, there was something about him that felt different. Shisui couldn't really tell what it was, besides those black clothes looking unworn and awfully expensive (and that leather jacket looked real). Maybe it was something in his demeanor? His posture?

In those black eyes, revealing as little as his brother's?

"Ah, you live somewhere around here, right?" Sasuke snarled and took an earphone out of his ear, giving a somewhat satisfactory explanation to his earlier deafness.

That smile had a new self-confidence to it, making it even more unbearably smug than before.

"Why the hell are you here?" Shisui snapped, so overcome by annoyance he forgot to be curious. "Get the fuck out or they'll rape your pretty little ass."

"You thinking my ass is pretty," Sasuke responded with the hint of a smirk, "is almost as creepy as your obsession with my brother."

Shisui didn't get the chance to reply to that before a very angry male voice interrupted them by screaming to what he thought might've once been a melody.

Sasuke pulled out a cellphone, a slim, black model that seemed as new and stylishly modern as his clothes. After having checked the screen, he gave his older cousin a peculiar look, in which Shisui read an unexpected nervousness.

"Yes?" When he answered, his voice had a worried note to it, too; the tone was free from the vehemence that it usually held. "Um, yeah, I was just on my way home. Yeah, no..." He paused and glanced cautiously at Shisui again. "I'm coming. I, I can't speak right now."

And that, if anything, was a very strange thing to say.

Shisui felt a shiver slowly trickling down his spine, a tremor running through his body like electricity. He couldn't tell why, but he knew the sudden coldness as fear; because something was wrong, and some deeply buried instinct inside of him had come to life for the sole purpose of warning him.

He felt...watched.

Sasuke hung up and turned his back on him, immediately starting to walk away, hurriedly, without caring to lock back once, or even to say goodbye.

"Actually, now I'm curious!" Shisui called after him and heard the odd eagerness in his own voice. "What _are_ you really doing here?"

This was met with no reaction whatsoever, which was exactly as infuriating the second time around. God, he wanted nothing but to kick the bastard!

He had no chance to do this, unfortunately, because before he knew it Sasuke had vanished. Though he could probably catch up to him if he ran – he must've went into some side street or the like – he wasn't motivated enough to try, not with his muscles already aching from overuse.

Instead, he decided to go home and go to bed.

It was only later he would realize he should have demanded an answer right then and there.

* * *

Two days later, Shisui heard the news.

It was one of the costumers at the bar that spoke about it, and it wasn't even meant for his ears; he just happened to catch it. Up til then, he had avoided the newspapers, walking right past the headlines, and hadn't been told by or eavesdropped on anybody else, nor listened to the radio (he had no TV). Apparently, his family hadn't found it worth, or just hadn't thought about, notifying him, either.

Uchiha Madara had escaped. They had started out with ten people and killed off five guards; but he was the only one getting away alive. Yet, the prison break was called "so successful that the authorities suspects the meticulous planning alone has taken months".

Then, the prison was one of those that you weren't supposed to be able to escape. Well, technically, they all were, but this was, like, _at all_. On any level. No matter how much you died in the process. The management had guaranteed, in an official announcement at that, that there were only two ways out, and those were 1, having your throat slit, or 2, slitting your own throat (the simple alternatives getting killed or committing suicide in more creative terms).

That Saturday night, after his smile had went from a wee bit strained to faltering to barely there, Shisui was polishing a glass while half-heartedly listening to the pathetic whinings of one of the regulars when a familiar name spilling from another drunkard's mouth caught his attention.

"...you know that Uchiha, what's his name?" she asked her neighbor. "What would you say if he just stepped in the door, there, right now?"

"Who?" her neighbor asked, while Shisui wondered how the hell Itachi or Sasuke had managed to catch the attention of this people (or, the least likely of all, if she was actually talking about their father).

"What?" the woman shrieked. "You haven't heard? Oh my god, where've you been this last week?"

Shisui's confusion rightly matched the one that was clearly shown on her companion's face.

"Hello?" She laughed and now there was disbelief in her voice, as if she thought her friend must simply be screwing her over. "The Uchiha? From the prison break? Sole survivor, mister M-something?"

"Madara," Shisui breathed, but neither of them heard him.

This was evident when the man next to her proudly exclaimed:

"Ah, Uchiha Madara!" as if he should be praised solely for remembering the name.

Shisui's head was spinning. No way. This had got to be a joke.

Madara... Really, he couldn't. It mustn't be true. Fuck, if it was...

What, it wasn't like they were the ones to set him up or anything. He wouldn't come bothering them, right? Because this wasn't a bad gangster movie. And he'd want to get the hell out of the city as fast as possible, wouldn't he?

Why would he care for some relatives that he only knew vaguely, some low-life refugees who hadn't come to visit him once?

Or perhaps he'd be pissed for that. Nah, that didn't sound likely.

_If_ it was true. People wasting away in a place like this wasn't the most reliable you could imagine. He'd have to ask somebody else.

When his five minute break finally came, he borrowed the old, battered phone behind the bar and typed in a most familiar number. Thankfully, there weren't that many costumers around at this time, and those who were kept the volume of their conversations' surprisingly level.

"The Uchiha household."

The soft female voice answering was undoubtedly Mikoto's, but it was something about it that felt... _off_.

"Hey, it's Shisui," Shisui said and dismissed it as his overactive imagination, possibly strengthened by the shocking news he'd received mere minutes ago. "You know, I'm calling from my job so, you know, I can't speak for very long..."

"Oh, Shisui!" Mikoto laughed, but when she continued her voice held a tremble for just a moment, and overall lacked that certain, happy quality it usually had: "It's just you! I mean, of course it is. Who else would it be...?" She laughed nervously. "But I'm just babbling, what is it that you want, dear?"

And just like during that meeting with Sasuke, this creeping feeling of unease stole over him.

"I just heard," he said, and for no reason whatsoever, he lowered his voice. "About... about Madara's escape."

She sucked in a sharp breath, as if she hadn't known, or at least tried her best to forget.

"Yes, it's awful, isn't it?" She sighed. "I didn't believe it at first, when I got the news... Does it worry you? I don't think he'd care about you..."

And those were the same words he'd thought, so he just hummed in agreement, and nodded as if she could see him. Before he had the chance to ask more about it, Mikoto spoke again:

"How is work going, anyway?" she wondered, changing the subject like it weren't been that big of a deal, nothing they needed to discuss further. "I hope you're not overworking yourself. You do know you're always welcome to return home, Shisui."

"Yeah," Shisui said and tried to pretend they weren't both aware of the fact it would never happen.

He hesitated, then decided to ask something more about his dear old uncle, but was once again interrupted before he could, this time concerning the well-being of her sons and her husband (who were all so happy and healthy there had to be a lie in there, somewhere. Seriously, Fugaku was never happy.).

They exchanged a few more forcedly polite phrases and then goodbyes and with that, he hung up.

So it was true. Was that the reason for her acting so nervous? She had said he shouldn't worry, but hell, she had sure sounded worried herself.

Had Madara contacted them? No, that was just jumping to conclusions. If he had, they could just go to the police, and surely if they asked, they'd be provided with proper protection. But to him Mikoto had always seemed, despite her mild ways, a strong woman, stronger than his own mother. This anxiety she'd given proof of was way too far from her normal, oh so calm kindness – that alone was probably the reason for him overthinking this.

Shisui rubbed his tired eyes and returned to work.

Him imagining things or not, tomorrow, he would go see Itachi.

* * *

The Uchiha house came into sight when he turned around the street corner, and as always, it stood out against its gray-toned, depressing background; the well-maintained garden, the almost-new paint with its cheerfully bright blue, the facade in whole just holding a little more dignity than the houses' surrounding.

Shisui yawned and stretched and cursed under his breath, having had to force himself out of bed this morning, and that was even more forcefully than his everyday routine. Feeling sick in the way real hunger could make you, he had somehow swallowed down the last of some dreadful prepared lunch he had bought to torture his stomach into demanding less food. Then, while being all too aware of how much this made him want to puke, he had ridden the fucking bus to get here, which meant Itachi must be home and dying to see him or _fuck it all_.

Not wanting to be faced with the bratty, unmannered adolescent of doom that was Sasuke, he just tried the handle and, when noticing exactly how unlocked the door was, slipped inside without a second thought.

The hall was dark and the house was dead quiet. Like in, you said it, something _killed_ that silence, and the perpetrator was something other than just the shadows, the mere absence, the echoing emptiness.

He should probably have some tests done. God, he was going freaking paranoid.

Because nothing fends off madness quite like giving into it, he decided that the best course of action would no doubt be sneaking around like a thief. Or a stealthy ninja. Ninjas were cool.

Also, any chance to avoid running into Fugaku was welcome, even disguised as something as generally harmful as paranoia.

He was therefore relieved when he'd tiptoed across the room and up the stairs, and so had made it thus far without discovery. Both of the doors to the brothers' rooms were closed, leaving the bathroom door the only one halfway open. There were no lights on – anywhere, what he'd seen, because the kitchen had been dark and the rooms beyond hadn't seem illuminated, either – up here, and when he thought about it, he was pretty sure he hadn't seen any lights in any of the windows when approaching it from the outside.

He wasn't just being paranoid – things were weird around here. Fuck, Fugaku should be up and about by now, sitting in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and/or preaching about work ethics. And Itachi should agree with him and add something about the pretty little rainbow wonders of being a no-life workaholic, while Sasuke was either still asleep or had joined them in the kitchen, half asleep rolling his eyes, and Mikoto gave her heartwarming smile, fed her family and said nothing that wasn't polite or practical.

But the house felt so abandoned it was creepy, and he couldn't understand how he hadn't noticed this before. And still, it had been unlocked. That would mean someone was home, huh?

He knocked on Itachi's door because, yeah, you did that, but then decided that he had made a habit of entering without permission lately, and this needn't be an exception.

Therefore, he let himself in.

It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust somewhat to the dark, and when they had, he noticed two very weird things.

1: Itachi was sitting on his bed. This didn't sound the least bit remarkable in itself, but in this context, it sure stood out. Really, he was doing absolutely nothing, and this with too stiff a posture to suggest he was lazing around (which hadn't been a likely alternative anyway). And he was so still it was like he'd been paralyzed, frozen, turned a stone statue, or whatever fancy simile you might think of making.

2: When Shisui had stood there staring at the spot where he knew the bed to be, waiting for the outlines to appear out of the darkness, and after this had spent at least one stunned minute wondering why the hell his best friend looked as if he'd been petrified by some mythological lady with snakes in her hair, _he still hadn't moved_.

Fact was, Itachi hadn't reacted to his entering in any way. Shisui got a creeping feeling of this being one of those scenes that was taken straight from a bad movie, tentatively the sort where you see someone sitting upright, seeming all fine and dandy, but then when you poke them on the shoulder they fall over, dead, and very much so.

To prevent himself from squealing like a little girl, Shisui spoke bravely:

"Hey, what the hell is with you? This is the second time, and you better not tell me it's due to you being a slave for your brother again, because that just sounds wrong. Heh, heh."

This was truly very funny, and uttered in the deepest voice he could master (which kind of sounded like a little girl trying her best not to squeal, and failing), and should have had Itachi laughing, at least a bit. That was appropriate, and polite, and of course did not happen.

Instead, Itachi turned his head barely an inch towards his guest, a movement that easily could have gone unnoticed in the dark.

"You're not dead!" Shisui said happily. "I mean, not that I thought you were. That would, I must say, be most unlikely. Seeing how you're breathing and all."

To those intelligent observations and highly necessary comments, his cousin still didn't give an answer.

Yes, Itachi had it, too. Just like Mikoto, just like Sasuke, there was something that wasn't quite right about him. It was like they were all in on some big practical joke, and Shisui was the only one left unknowing. Like the joke was on him.

Because Shisui was getting awfully tired of being kept in the dark – and yeah, that was in two senses – he flicked the light switch beside the door, hoping to at least rectify one of those.

Itachi shielded his eyes with one of his slender, white hands and made a small, startled noise that was so out of character it wasn't even funny.

Or perhaps just a little.

"Morning, sunshine," Shisui laughed and was rewarded with a chillingly icy stare.

It was so hostile it actually made him shut his mouth. Everybody who had spent two minutes in his company understood that this had to indicate something extraordinary.

The stiff air in here was making breathing harder, it dried his mouth up, had a headache pulsing with the thick beating of blood behind his too breakable temples.

"What are you doing here?" Itachi asked, as if Shisui was the one acting strange, and that was by coming to see him at home on a Sunday, which he had been doing since, pretty much, forever.

Itachi's voice was utterly lifeless, to a degree that was unusual even for him. And those eyes... Shisui hadn't seen them so devoid of warmth since his younger cousin had been told about his little brother's issues in school.

Yeah, right before the finger-cutting incident.

"What's with y'all?" Shisui muttered, having his sensible feeling of hurt (perhaps even fear) overridden by annoyance. "Sasuke's a bitch...well yeah, but more than usual, and he goes around in clothes suggesting you've won the lottery, and damn was that phone call weird... and your mom... yeah, speaking of weird phone calls. She was so damn nervous and she refused to talk about uncle Madara... who, by the way, has escaped, which really doesn't happen 'cause this aint a crappy movie." Itachi calmly regarded him, as if waiting for him to get to the point. "And also, you're not up...again. And your house is so silent I got the feeling no one was home, and when I finally find you, you don't even bother to greet me, instead you just sit there like you're fucking dead and then glare at me like you wish I was."

After having offered this clever summary, Shisui fell silent, patiently waiting for a satisfactory explanation.

This was too much to ask, obviously, because his friend just kept on looking at him as if he had just discovered something surprising about Shisui's usual idiocy: its limitlessness.

"I think Madara's escape may have riled you up," Itachi then offered. "You seem to be drawing lots of groundless conclusions from a few random, unrelated facts."

Now, he suddenly sounded unaffected and composed, so utterly normal it was weirdly unsettling. As if he had thought it over, then decided that the best course of action was to feign his usual behavior, like he was starring in a play, acting the role of himself.

"Uh, well..." Shisui suddenly felt a little embarrassed, recalling his quite pointless breaking and entering in painful detail. "Technically, I haven't been able to conclude anything... but, you know, that still doesn't explain, well... your brother's clothes."

A curious half smile changed Itachi's face, had his eyes softening.

"So you have met my brother?" he asked and there was still no telling what he was thinking - for all his cousin knew he could just be making conversation. "Late hours provided father with a bonus, so let's just say we have slightly more money than usual..."

"And Fugaku decided to spend it on _Sasuke_?" Shisui sneered. "His useless disgrace of a son?"

Those were overly harsh words, but hey, his patience was wearing thin.

Apparently, so was Itachi's.

"Not another word." His voice was murderously calm, and all winter nights in the north couldn't measure up to that cold. "Don't you dare speak about my brother in that way."

Ouch. But damn, he was to blame. He should've known there were places you seriously didn't thread.

In Itachi's book, badmouthing Sasuke was similar to kicking puppies and eating kittens, or possibly worse.

"As for mom, she is fine," his best friend continued. "I do say, the prison break had her a bit anxious, but we have all agreed that, logically, there exists no actual threat."

Itachi held his gaze, unflinching, so alike his usual self, and Shisui wondered if that was the reason for this exaggerated analysis: if he was simply reading too much into things because of his own nervousness. His friend seemed normal over all, supposedly. After all, that glaring business was one of his trademark moves.

"But I know you," Shisui's mouth said, because even if he mere seconds ago had considered letting it go, his right-brained personage couldn't process what his mind did its best convincing him of. "And this isn't..."

"I heard he was sick...and dying." Itachi interrupted him silently, intensely. "Why would you break out like that?"

At those last words, Shisui, unprecedentedly dense, finally understood to whom he was referring.

"He was?" he said, stupefied. "I had no idea... he, really? Well, that's gotta be a shitty life, in there." He shrugged in his usual carefree manner, was surprised at how unfamiliar that attitude felt, and had the sudden realization that recently, Itachi hadn't been the only one acting out of character. "Perhaps he didn't want to die in a cell."

Itachi cocked one eyebrow.

"I suppose that could be it," he agreed, albeit hesitantly.

Comforted by the atmosphere having changed back to normal (it had probably been that one week break, really, he couldn't leave the kid alone for twelve days), Shisui gave a crooked grin and dropped down at the end of the bed.

"So, what've you been up to, 'Tachi?" he asked and patted his friend on one outstretched foot. "You miss me?"

Thank fucking god, things were back to normal. It was just him, easily indoctrinated, a victim of his own ludicrous conspiracy theories.

Since fate hates you and always means to fuck you over for thinking stuff like that, Itachi's next remark had his smile vanishing.

"I'm not in love with you," his cousin said, matter-of-factedly.

It was a demonstration of unbelievable clumsiness, one that exceeded adorable and even laughable and, if his rapidly increasing blood pressure was any indicator, came much closer to infuriating.

Shisui would have told him this if he hadn't been so busy with contemplating the dangers of jumping out a second floor window (and the possibility of running with a broken leg.).

"Trust me, I am grateful for your feelings," Itachi mumbled, his face as blank as ever those words rang empty. "Unfortunately, I'm incapable of returning them. It is a simple fact that I'm unable to force myself to feel what isn't there."

Now, humiliation was probably one of Shisui's least favorite feelings, and definitely one of the ones he had hardest handling. Therefore, he felt his face grow hot, he knew his ears were soon to be dangerously red, and he wanted to respond in the most overused, typically manly way there was: by shrieking "I hate you!", pulling Itachi's hair and running out of the room crying.

Instead, he just gasped, like somebody had knocked the air out of his uncooperative lungs. Rammed him into a wall, grabbed him by the hair, and hit the back of his head repeatedly against unforgiving bricks.

Yes, love was like that. It made people melodramatic idiots. It made melodramatic idiots even more melodramatic and idiotic. Truly, it was a feeling worth dying for.

Really, when had he gotten so damn sensitive and overly caring? He acted like a guy out of something by women, for women.

"I believe our conversation is finished," Itachi said softly. "If you don't have anything to add?"

"Uh," Shisui answered intelligently.

Then, he got to his feet and got to leaving the room with as much dignity as he could muster, all gracelessness and bitter confusion. He was running away again, because that was what you did when you couldn't break down in front of other people and your best friend had just transformed into a cruel bitch.

He could tell that Itachi's eyes was boring into his back, but decided against looking over his shoulder, too concerned with salvaging the last of his image to admit it really didn't matter.

* * *

As if the house had come to life from him stepping into it, two-third of the remaining family had now magically materialized out of nowhere. Fugaku was sitting in his usual spot in the kitchen, going about his usual business, and since the door was left halfway open, he could see Mikoto's back where she was seated on the front steps of their lovely home.

"Good morning," Shisui muttered to his stepfather something or another, and hastened by before said person had any chance to answer him.

Mikoto was wearing a white nightgown, with her ink black hair spilling down her back, an unbrushed and yet seemingly soft veil of darkness.

She held a steaming cup in her one hand, and – and Shisui frowned at this – a lit cigarette in her other.

Seriously, Mikoto smoking? When the hell did he get whacked on the head and go to another dimension?

As he watched, she took a slow, satisfied drag and put her cop of coffee down by her side.

"Good morning," Shisui muttered, and she jumped.

He noticed her wiping her cheeks before she turned her head, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. It could be she was tired.

It could be she'd been crying.

"Good morning, dear," she whispered, and her voice was brittle like glass.

"Are...are you okay?" Shisui wondered, carefully stepping around her, shaken by what must be distress, barely visible in those soft eyes, quietly lining her otherwise young looking face.

You would never have believed this woman had had two children. You would never even begin to suspect that there was steel within her, that of a fighter who wouldn't budge, but wouldn't hurt, either.

She was quite like Itachi in that way: someone who had endured, who had lived the darkness of this world, and still nursed that naïve idealism, keeping it alive, that kind which people like him had never even had to begin with.

He wondered what it was, if that was goodness.

"I am fine," Mikoto said and smiled at him, somewhat sadly.

Since he knew that squeezing answers out of her wasn't the easiest, and because his encounter with her enigmatic son upstairs already had left him frustrated enough, Shisui cursed under his breath, told her goodbye and turned his back on her.

Sooner or later, he would probably have to face this, but right now, he was happy with escaping, like the easy-going bastard he was. He could be courageous tomorrow.

* * *

_Itachi let his eyes slip shut and concentrated on his breathing, never before noticing how much such an easy task took out of him. _

_His heart...hurt. _

"_I missed you too," he said aloud, systematically unclenching his curled fists and holding his pale, long-fingered hands up in front of him, giving them his undivided attention. _

_He was no doubt a most questionable friend. _

_But it had been of necessity. Itachi winced when he saw the thin line of dried up blood under his fingernails. Such carelessness. But then, Shisui hadn't seemed to notice. Shisui wasn't one for the little details._

_This was good, for Shisui mustn't see it. It was of uttermost importance that he remained unaware of the blood on Itachi's hands. _


End file.
